Inextricable
by Glop
Summary: Curt can't escape Brian, and Arthur won't forget Curt.


Curt stirred awake, a breeze on his face. The smell of sweat and alcohol and cigarettes permeated everything. He squinted into the sun for a moment, covered his face with his hand. The air felt hot and cool at the same time, and the closeness of the person next to him warmed him the way only the feeling of skin against skin can. Closing his eyes, he set his head on Arthur's shoulder, absently stroked his chest. He hoped Arthur wouldn't wake up, hoped this illusion could be kept up for eternity.

He could picture Brian behind his closed eyes, could still feel the shadow left by his mouth the last time they'd kissed. He remembered the last time they'd slept together, before it became angry and violent, a desperate fight for domination. When it was over, and they were spent, tangled in sweat and semen-soaked sheets, he looked into Brian's eyes and saw himself reflected. When he would later search for some indication that it wasn't over, that nothing had changed between them, that they would go back to the way they were, he would see nothing at all. Just that hard, vibrant color that had girls all over London swooning.

"Brian, I _love_ you." Brian always turned away, and Curt realized he had never said it. Never would.

He had wandered Berlin for days after he'd left London, hoping to turn a corner and see Brian there, laughing, and he would take him into his arms and everything would be right. He never was around that corner, at the end of any street. Just on all the televisions, in the pages of all the magazines, looking no different, except for the fact that he was a lifetime away. The publicity stunts had all been a game in the beginning; eventually they'd become everything there was. Or were they all that had ever been?

"...are you Curt Wild?"

"No."

You couldn't forget about Brian, not after being inextricably tangled up in him, around him. It was so easy to get caught. Whenever Curt found himself alone, in crowds, anywhere, he was all he could think of. It was exhausting, and it was everything that was keeping him wide awake. He didn't care about desperation, didn't care about image.

Brian did.

"Did you see--?"

"No." Mandy. She'd been caught, too.

Then Arthur stared into Curt, and Curt stared back. In him, he saw Brian, and everything Brian wasn't. Wide-eyed marvel at this world of glitter and fashion and lust. Brian had been like that, once. Or, maybe, that was, too, an act. Always posing, searching for the camera that would define his life.

They collided across the room, and Curt knew. Arthur was Brian, the way he should have been, the way Curt still remembered him.

Memories aren't in any way accurate. They evolve into what we want them to be.

Gazes locked, out beneath the stars, Arthur's eyes were mirrors. Curt saw Brian.

Arthur woke up staring into the sky. He thought the previous night must have been a dream. He had, after all, had several similar. The weight on his chest, the tickle of breath on his neck, told him otherwise.

"Curt?" The word came out thick and scratchy. One hand toyed with the edge of the mattress, keeping him on the ground, in reality.

"Morning." As everything, the mirage faded.

Arthur was suddenly aware of the smudged makeup, the way his hair stuck out. He found himself wanting to run, yet stay here always.

Curt had been right. This had been what he'd needed. He looked down at Arthur, saw him for the first time, and thought, maybe, maybe he could fall in love.

They didn't see each other again for ten years.

Arthur glanced from the pin to the door and made up his mind. He peered into the darkness, could see Curt's outline, head down, cigarette in one hand, making his way down the street. He hurried to catch up.

"Curt!"

He turned, cocked a grin. "Hey."

"Want some company?"

"Sure."

They walked in silence. Arthur broke it.

"You did, you know."

Curt glanced at him sidelong. "Did what?"

Arthur smiled. Somewhat jokingly, replied, "'Mangle my mind.'"

Curt laughed; it was sardonic and sincere. "Really." It wasn't a question.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"You are."

They looked at each other and into each other and Brian dissolved.


End file.
